An Unlikely Affair
by snapeaffied
Summary: Harry and Hermione return to Hogwarts to complete their education, without their best friend. Determined to rectify the drastic effect the war has had on her life, Hermione seeks help from her Potions Master but receives more than she bargained for.
1. Prologue

**An Unlikely Affair**

Disclaimer: This world belongs to J.K. Rowling, I just like to dabble in it and create a bit of silliness. To all my fellow SS/HG fans and anyone who's just having a look please feel free to leave as many reviews as you like, I absolutely love getting feedback on my work.

Author's Note: This chapter is for setting the scene and introducing the characters. The telling of the story really begins about a third of the way through the next chapter. Happy reading.

**Prologue**

Walking sullenly through the gate to platform nine and three-quarters , Hermione was greeted warmly by Ginny, a red-headed girl, once merely the sister of Ron, and now one of her closest friends seconded only by Harry. Although her exterior seemed content enough, Ginny's eyes betrayed the horrible despair that Hermione's closely-knit group were all feeling. Somehow the train's steam smelt less sweet, the faces of the students and parents less animated, and the friendly hugs of her close friends less welcoming. Hermione had changed. The death of her boyfriend, her best friend, had closed off her heart, her cold eyes staring back at the familiar yet distant scene of a world forever marred by death and destruction.

Clambering onto the Hogwarts Express, Harry managed to find an empty carriage compartment. Holding the door open for Ginny with an awkward smile and Hermione with a sympathetic silent air, they entered the cold and previously homely world of Hogwarts. Small talk was not even attempted as the three spiritless children stared blankly either out the window or into a worn book, but even the smell of the musty pages could not lift Hermione's mood, her friend, her soul mate, her life, had ended with the death of Ron.

A loud click forced Hermione into a familiar state of panic. Drawing her wand, she realised it was merely the carriage door sliding open, but the face that peered back at her from the other side of the door was not one she could endure.

"Well well, the three musketeers are no more I see, we've had to make do with the younger Weasley generation have we? Oh, but wait, we swap one couple for another. Moving in on poor Weasley's sister are we Potter? Shame on you," said the arrogant and disdainful Draco Malfoy.

Moving fast Hermione whispered a curse under her breath turning the bastard into the rat that he was. Picking Malfoy up, she hurled him out of their compartment reversing the curse, minus the nose. To her satisfaction he recoiled and ran to the safety of his compartment, protected by his brainless thugs.

Everything seemed the same but less majestic. Since the war against Voldemort had been won the previous year everyone's efforts were focused on regaining the normality of life before the war, starting with the reopening of Hogwarts. Theoretically Harry and Hermione should be happy, or at least relieved that the war was over, they were able to return to school to finish their education, but they were not happy. The war had taken everything apart from their lives, which seemed to them was even worse than death. To live without one's friends, one's family was a fate worth than any hole in the ground.

Hermione, Ron and Harry had given up their hopes of finishing their education the year before to pursue Horcruxes and join the full-time fight against the Dark Lord, and although she valued her books and her knowledge, Hermione would have given it all up to have Ron beside her.

Dumbledore was dead and the new headmaster, Professor McGonagall, a natural choice for the position had reinstated Severus Snape to his position as Potion's Master. Believed to be a murderer until the headmaster's secret vault had been broken into by the ministry and proven that he had merely been following orders; Snape had rejoined the Order before Voldemort's demise and had proven his loyalty to the cause. Although he was thoroughly disliked he was the only potions master who was not otherwise engaged in full time employment and as ministry laws had changed, forcing all citizens not undertaking study to obtain a regular job, Snape had relatively no choice.

The three children had to return to the scene of the crime. Usually those students who chose to leave Hogwarts before completing their studies would be exempt from the new laws that required all magically gifted children to attend the nearest magical school, but as the year that Hermione and Harry had left had been considerably interrupted all those students who were or would otherwise have completed their education were required to return to school for at least one more year.

Dressing into their school robes Harry and Hermione exited the train in the same fashion as they had for six years, but instead of the cheery calls of Hagrid greeting them they were faced with the stone cold, sallow face of Filch leading the first years to the boats. They were here, at Hogwarts, the place where all their hopes and dreams of happiness after the war had been shattered, where Ron had died protecting the Boy Who Lived, and where the three children had grown up and faced the bleak reality of mortality. Hermione would have to endure the memories, both good and bad evoked by the place where she once felt safe.


	2. Disturbing Revelations

Disclaimer: This is J.K. Rowling's creation that I've mixed up a little. Please leave as many reviews as you like; I am always happy to hear everyone's opinions on my work. I have recently come back to this story. Having moved countries, learnt an entire AS syllabus in 3 months, etc I haven't had any time to think about this, but I thought I'd have another try. Many thanks.

Chapter 1 – Disturbing Revelations

After the Sorting Ceremony and the usual feast, Hermione escaped to the confines of her bedroom, which was awarded to her as Head Girl by the Headmistress. Pulling out one of her favourite books, a muggle novel – "To Kill a Mocking Bird", she curled up on her four-poster and fell asleep, dreaming not of the book, but of her devoted Ron.

The one positive aspect of returning to Hogwarts was the constant, distracting nature of study. Classes were as she expected, perfectly and graciously distracting. She absorbed herself in the texts she read even more than she had the year before last, until one class, the last lesson of the day – Potions. Hermione sat herself as far away from Snape's desk as possible, followed by Harry. It wasn't that she disliked the man, but his presence reminded her of a past that she was determined to ignore.

Slamming the doors open, with swishing robes and hair, Professor Snape entered his old classroom, with the same elegance and style that he had a year and a half earlier, before the tragic task that earned him the hatred of more than half of the wizarding world. Deliberately ignoring frightful stares and gasps from the seventh year students, he turned and examined his pupils. All were far less innocent and naive than he remembered, and his teaching reputation he noted was heightened rather than hindered by the world's judgement of his participation in the war.

"Introductions I trust are not required, and neither is idle chit chat, Mr Finnegan! Turn to page three hundred and fifty and attempt to complete the set task without ruining your cauldron, Mr Longbottom!" Snape's tone left no room for argument.

"Professor, we studied this the year before last, surely you do not expect us to complete it again?" asked Hermione.

"Miss Granger, although you may have certain privileges due to your student status, that does not give you the authority to question my teaching tactics, fifty points from Gryffindor, for your cheek!" Snape growled.

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued reading through their assigned lesson.

Snape stalked noiselessly from his desk, and basked in the momentary pleasures afforded by the looks of sheer terror on his student's faces. He observed that Granger was absorbed in the text and moved to stand behind her.

"Miss Granger, are you intending to start the assigned project, or have you developed your skills at being an insufferable know-it-all, and learned how to produce a potion by simply learning the text by heart, and producing it as a direct quote devoid of any originality?" said the silky and venomous voice of the Potions Master.

Hermione's face went a violent shade of red at Snape's comment, but unlike her previous years of suffering in silence, she decided, or rather her emotional state forced her not to think, before she spoke and exercised some, as he put it – originality.

"You, sir, are a git! Just because Dumbledore could see through your sour and displeasing disposition and find it in his foolish heart to not flay you alive, does not give you the right to inflict even more pain than you and your cowardly death eating fuckwits already have!" Hermione yelled.

Immediately covering her mouth and lowering her head, Hermione braced herself for the onslaught of Snape's heated remarks.

Snape caught his surprise split seconds before it appeared on his face, instead letting a disturbing sneer ignite his facial features. "You will please restrain yourself, Miss Granger, and restrict your remarks to soft whispers telling Mr Longbottom how to complete the set task," said Snape silkily, gliding towards his desk. "Oh, and you will be serving detention every night until you have learned to keep your tongue under control. Now continue your work, or more appropriately, start it."

Hermione couldn't help but swear under her breath, she'd just been given not just one, but several detentions on the very first day of school by none other than the arrogant prat of a Professor whom she had tried to avoid at all costs. Packing her bag as quickly as possible, Hermione raced out of the door and straight up to Gryffindor Tower.

_The arrogant, self righteous prat, complete and utter bastard! Detention, give me detention, if it wasn't for me you'd have bled to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack! Self important, murdering scoundrel! _

She bashed every piece of linen in sight, and right before breaking the lamp next to her bed she was interrupted by the very bastard himself – Professor Snape's head had appeared in the fireplace.

"Miss Granger, you might wish to eat something before tonight's detention, I do not expect you will be returning to your room before midnight. Oh, and as for your attire," he said, while looking disdainfully at the pink, fluffy slippers Lavender had given as a 'sorry he's dead' present, "muggle clothes will suffice, and I'm sure you possess plenty of those." With that he disappeared.

_How dare he, how DARE HE! _

Sending the lamp flying into the fireplace, Hermione changed into the worst muggle clothes she could find – a pair of torn jeans, a size theoretically too small, although Lavender would disagree, and an equally tight polo shirt. She didn't even bother to survey her appearance in the mirror, but simply tied her untameable mane in a ponytail.

Snape was just about to send a nasty alarm charm into Miss Granger's room when he heard a knock at the door. "Come," he groaned.

Hermione opened the door leaving it slightly ajar as she contemplated taking the seat opposite the formidable figure of her disregarding inflictor. Deciding that it would be safer to stand, she planted her feet firmly on the stone floor, nearer the door than his desk, lest she need to exercise a quick escape from his drawling, malignant tones. Slowly drawing his eyes away from his grading, Snape started to formulate a witty remark which lodged in his throat when he saw the relatively naked form, in contrast with completely unrevealing school robes, of Hermione Granger.

"What in God's name do you think you are doing, Miss Granger, wearing something of that nature to a detention? Go back to your room and change this instant!" Snape barked, banishing the choked sound momentarily audible in his voice.

Hermione stared at the hateful man seething at her and replied with a drawling disregarding tone, not dissimilar to the one which the man opposite her usually engaged, "I beg your pardon, but I believe that you may have the authority to give me however many unnecessary detentions as you see fit, but you do not have the right to dictate what clothes I am permitted to wear, even if you do find them inappropriate! These are my worst, as you put it, "muggle" clothes, and as I assume that my detention will consist of manual labour, I would rather not turn a reasonably good outfit to dust, even if it would help your peace of mind, Professor!"

Hermione was proud of herself, if not horrified at her lack of respect and tact. That remark would surely cost her at the least another night in the presence of this monster.

Choosing to ignore her impertinent remark, Snape simply glanced at the work bench containing one cauldron, a first year text book and various ingredients. Delighting in the obvious confusion and curiosity emanating from the bushy-haired know-it-all, he motioned her to take the seat nearest the cauldron.

"Professor, I don't understand, what is it that you want me to do exactly?" Hermione inquired, managing to keep her vocal tone even.

Sneering inwardly, Snape moved towards the bench and stood towering over the small and delicate frame of Hermione Granger. He allowed the sneer to envelope his face, and felt increasingly superior as he noticed her squirm under his piercing gaze and stiffen at his impeding closeness and invasion of her personal space.

Feeling exceedingly uncomfortable, and robbed of air, Hermione managed to banish fear and straightened, looking defiantly up into Snape's black eyes.

"You will not be undertaking any manual labour tonight, or any other for the remainder of your detentions. You will be completing _all_ the practical components of every potion in the first year text book," Snape said, with a hint of satisfaction and malicious joy.

Resolved not to give him the satisfaction of showing her utter revulsion, Hermione simply opened the text book and began the preparations for the first of many mundane potion assessments that Snape would undoubtedly force her to repeat if she did not maintain a level of absolute perfection.

Not looking up from her assigned task until she had completed several potions with more care and delicacy than she had ever managed, Hermione whiled away the hours until the clock struck twelve, and she was ushered out with a cold and disdainful glare.

That night Hermione woke in a pool of sweat. She had dreamt that her parents had tried to save her from the onslaught of spells cast from several Death Eaters, while Ron's lifeless body lay limp on the damp soil in front of her. Washing her face and looking at the clock, she pulled on an old sweater, tracksuit bottoms and some trainers, and walked distractedly down the stairs and through the doors onto the grounds, assaulted by a welcome gust of ice-cold wind, awakening her senses and freezing her heart. Determined to rid her mind of the horrific images revolving through her head, she broke into a run. With eyes closed and emotions slowly subsiding, she charged unknowingly, head-first into Professor Snape.

"What in Merlin's name do you mean by running recklessly in this manner, at night, outside, Miss Granger?" Snape growled.

Trying desperately to recompose herself, Hermione brushed away wayward tears, and stiffened, replying coldly, "I am terribly sorry, Professor Snape. I was not looking where I was going."

Snape stood observing the distressed and sorrowful form of Miss Granger and sighed inwardly. He was tired of maintaining the persona of the frightening and unapproachable Potions Professor, and longed to be able to recoil and reject society as he so desperately wanted to. He had not thought that he would survive the war, in fact he was counting on the opposite, but life does have a way of disregarding what one wants and implementing what it thinks is best, or in Snape's eyes, more torturous.

Recollecting his thoughts, Snape spoke with less venom than he intended, bordering on understanding, or perhaps resignation, "No obviously you were not, Miss Granger. One should not wander alone at this hour, there are still dangers left in this world, even though one of the most eminent is no longer present."

With that he stalked away, puzzled at his unguarded choice of words, followed by Hermione's curious and dazed stare. Coming to her senses several minutes later, she hurried back to her chambers, realising that if Snape caught her outside again, he would not hesitate to deduct house points, and fill her calendar with demeaning detentions.

Forcing herself to eat a piece of lightly buttered toast, Hermione stared into her plate of untouched cereal.

"Hermione, are you okay, you've hardly touched breakfast and you haven't had a proper dinner since the Sorting Ceremony?" Harry asked soothingly and somewhat hesitantly.

"I'm fine, Harry, I'm just a bit out of sorts, being here and everything, everyone continuing as if nothing has happened, I just can't move on so easily," Hermione whispered, not looking up from her bowl.

"Herm, I think you should move in with me. I know what it's like to just brood in a never-ending cloud of hopelessness. You need to at least start to move on. Ron's gone and, and your parents, Hermione they aren't, they aren't coming back. You can't keep bottling everything inside and living in denial," Harry said, throwing caution to the wind. "At least you know that your mum and dad are ok, they're happy and they're alive. They may not be the same people as you loved, but they're safe, that's more than anyone could hope for."

"My parents are not alive, Harry!" Hermione stood up, her eyes welling with tears. "I may not be the boy who lived, whose parents died when I was young, but I'm the girl who followed you to the ends of the earth and lost parents who I actually knew and loved. They are not alive Harry. Don't you understand? They're dead, they don't remember me, and they don't know who I am! I wish they had died. I wish I could be certain like you can that they love me. But I can't. All I have are the memories of a life that I will never have again, not because death took them, but because if I saw them on the street, or ran up and hugged them, they'd no more recognise me as their daughter than they would a stray cat. I wish I had died instead of Ron! Do you know what it's like knowing that I'm the reason my parents are dead to me? DO YOU? So don't talk to me about moving on. I think I'm doing a bloody brilliant job of just being able to go through the day without crying," Hermione sobbed, staring at Harry with an expression of betrayal and distrust.

With that Hermione picked up her bag and retreated to the confines of the library, where the walls of books seemed to shelter her from the harsh reality outside of the musty, yellowed pages.

Hesitating on the threshold of Snape's gloomy dungeon cell, Hermione knocked with surprising confidence and entered the dimly lit, dank room. Without a word or glance in Snape's direction she seated herself in the place she had occupied the night before, and resumed her dreary but distracting task. As she worked she felt her eye lids grow heavy and almost dropped a plate full of newly cut ingredients. Adding them to her boiling mixture she noted that one of the ingredients that she had used the night before in a Sleeping Draught could potentially be incorporated into the potion she was currently working towards completing.

Deciding to trust her instincts, and many years of studying the properties and dangers connected with mixing certain ingredients, Hermione cut up what she estimated as the necessary amount, and cautiously added it to the simmering concoction. With a momentary bubble, the potion went a violent shade of purple and exuded a smell similar to that of cinnamon and other exotic spices.

Showing the first acknowledgement of her presence all night, Snape strode over towards where Hermione was working and looked disapprovingly at the strange purple liquid in her cauldron.

"And what, if you would be so kind as to tell me, Miss Granger, is this tripe you have concocted?" Snape drawled disappointedly. "I was under the impression that you were a capable, or at least adequate imitator of all things regarding a text book. Why then am I observing a purple liquid that does not resemble a Rapid Growth Potion in the slightest?"

Plucking up courage, Hermione stared defiantly into the cruel man's eyes and said simply, "I have added an ingredient which I believe will make the potion not only more effective, but more pleasant for the drinker, and in turn reduce the terrible side effects experienced when ingested."

Snape looked down his crooked nose at the confident creature looking up at him and noted that at last, a small flicker of the spark that he had hoped to kindle in her at the start of her first year pronounced itself. While he knew that Miss Granger believed his insults and exceedingly harsh critiques of her work were aimed at torturing her, which was exactly what he wished her to believe, he was in fact working towards challenging the girl who every other professor had chosen to dote upon and therefore stripped of any hard work. At last she was proving herself to be more than simply adequate at regurgitating boring and unoriginal facts. Well, perhaps a little more than adequate.

Smiling inwardly, and feeling the first form of joy unattached to human suffering, Snape spoke with a deceivingly uninterested tone, "Very well then, Miss Granger, if you believe that your potion is more potent than that in a text book that has been in existence since before you were born, then why don't you prove it. Drink your potion and then we shall see."

Filled with dread and regret, Hermione had no intention of backing down, but she was not wholly overjoyed at the idea of taste testing an experimental potion that was by no means ensured of success. Grabbing a vial of the purplish liquid, and saying a quick prayer to whatever force governed the universe, she lifted the vial to her lips and tentatively emptied the contents into her mouth. Swallowing the surprisingly tasteful potion, she started to feel an odd tingling sensation throughout her entire body and without warning she started to grow at an alarmingly fast rate. Obviously convinced of the potions effectiveness, Snape muttered a spell and just before her robes began to rip she shrunk to her normal size.

"And how do you feel, Miss Granger? Was the taste of the potion satisfactory? You don't seem to have curled over in a heap and died, so I suppose it cannot have been a complete failure," Snape sneered.

Puffing up her chest Hermione stared at Snape, and replied with a sharp tongue, rivalling that of a Slytherin, "You know perfectly well that it was not a failure in any respect. It tasted of exotic spices, which I am more partial to than the usual taste of rotten bat carcass, and I do not feel feverish or violently ill, nor have I died. Therefore it was a complete success, and should exempt me from any further detentions."

Snape could not help but smile at this outburst of genuine pride and spirit, as he looked on the bright and confident face of Hermione.

"You are quite right, it does appear to have been a success, but I would not have permitted you to drink it if I had not been sure it would not have caused permanent damage. Contrary to what you and your Gryffindor counter-part may believe, I do not take pleasure in murdering students, or watching people die," said the pallid faced Potions Master.

Hermione swallowed hard and shivered at the hint of malicious and sorrowful discontent audible only to the very observant, in Snape's last comment.

"I did not mean to offend you, Professor; I was just merely stating that I felt that my potion was a success. Forgive me for my insolence," she whispered hoarsely.

Biting her tongue, Hermione stared at the unreadable face of her Potions Master, and wondered what had possessed her to react in such a feeling way to a man who no more desired her sympathy than her presence.

Staring at each other for what seemed like an age, Snape wondered why he had not immediately repelled her apology with a cutting and witty remark. When had he allowed himself to drop his defences to an extent that had enabled him to betray some of his inner most feelings to the bushy-haired witch? Why did he feel so out of control, so ruled by his emotions?

Recollecting himself, Snape strode away and back to his desk, where a pile of untouched first year essays awaited his critical quill. A short time later, Hermione managed to regain some of her dignity and continued to work her way through the first year text book, adding several ingredients of her own as she went.

By the end of the night the pile of first year essays still lay untouched on Snape's desk, as his focus seemed unmovable from his present company. Thirty minutes after Hermione's first experimental potion, and the awkward silence that followed, Snape had resolved to abandon his futile attempts at marking the highly mundane and horribly poor excuses for essays, and observe the silent and determined young witch while she added peculiar, but clever and well-suited ingredients to potion after potion, occasionally voicing suggestions which she seemed to soak up like an ever-hungry sponge.

It was only after the clock struck one am that the pair realised the late hour, and hurried to vacate the area.

Pouring his nightly glass of firewhisky, Snape pondered on the night's events. It was nearing five am and he knew that if he fell asleep he would wake even more haggard than if he stayed awake.

Miss Granger was turning into a bright young witch. While his colleagues would argue that she had always been such, Snape knew that what the girl usually displayed and what she had managed tonight were two extremely different evidences of intelligence. Anyone could memorise a text book, perhaps not as effectively or as quickly as Hermione, but creating and analysing potion ingredients and being able to implement them in other potions, taking into account the delicate properties and boundaries was genius, and was worthy of even Snape's praise, although he did not allow himself to see or express it.

Harry wandered through the Great Hall, the Library, the Gryffindor common room, and scoured the school grounds for Hermione, but since their discussion two days prior she was nowhere to be found. Ginny had not seen her, and it seemed that she was growing even more reclusive. He had realised after the discussion that he was completely out of line, but he really had not meant anything by it, he only wanted to help her, but he had never been good at dealing with anything other than relying on pot luck, which everyone else called defeating Voldemort. Finally he saw her bushy-head enter through the fat lady portrait and rushed without consciously wishing to be intrusive to talk to her.

"Hiya, Harry, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Hermione joked.

Hastily shuffling her out of ear shot of the other occupants of the common room, Harry spoke in a hushed and urgent whisper, "I... I haven't seen you since yesterday and well, Herm, I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do. I've lost Ron and now I feel like I'm losing you too. Please think about what I said, about moving in with me I mean. I think it'll be good for both of us. But if you don't want to, I'll understand." Harry braced himself for an onslaught of tears or hushed, angry words.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I've just been so busy with work and detentions, and I've just not been coping very well. I snapped, and even though you _were_ out of line, I'm sorry about some of the things I said. I understand what you're trying to do, but I have to at least try to get through this on my own," Hermione whispered, placing a slightly tentative hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate it, Harry, really I do, but I just need you to be there and just kind of let me get by. I promise that you won't lose me. I just can't give up hoping that they'll remember. I just can't."

Harry embraced her and felt her relax in his arms. How had the bushy-haired little girl grown up into such a strong and independent adult, and why didn't he feel like he could follow her on whatever mission she was embarking on? He just knew that he'd be there waiting, with her whenever she needed him, even if she never did.

Retreating to her rooms, Hermione felt content for the first time since Ron had died. She knew that she'd never be the same girl that she was, she had changed, and she'd never regain that innocence joyfulness again, but she could at least be content.

With the first glimpses of the sun, Hermione woke from what felt like the most sound and longest night's sleep she'd had in months. Pulling on her trainers, she tied her hair into a messy bun and decided to go for a run to clear the clouds of sleep from her mind.

Feeling the rush of cold air against her skin, Hermione ran to the edge of the Forbidden Forest and noticed a small stream of smoke coming from Hagrid's previously homely hut. Curiosity getting the better of her, she jogged to the door and opened it, to find her sullen and defeated looking Potions Master, sitting with his head in his hands. Straightening at the intrusion, Hermione saw the momentary gap between the Snape that no one except Dumbledore knew and the mask that was the persona of the cold, disdainful Professor. Before she could close the door, he was upon her, his hand wrapped painfully around her fragile wrist, so close that she could feel his breath on her face.

"What are you doing here? What do you mean by bursting into a place where you have no right to be, you insolent, disrespectful chit of a girl?" Snape hissed, gripping her wrist tighter, causing the imprint of his hand to stain the otherwise perfect porcelain skin. "Well, _well_, speak child, speak you insufferable wench." Snape shook her and released her arm, pushing Hermione into the door, causing it to slam behind her.

"I... I was just, just going for a run, and I saw smoke coming from the chimney and I..."

"Thought you'd stifle your curiosity by trespassing," Snape interrupted, slicing Hermione's nerves into pieces.

"I am sorry, Professor. I'll just go back to the castle," Hermione managed, before he resumed his firm grip on her aching wrist.

"Oh no, but don't you want to marvel at the hideously hilarious form of your defeated Potions Master, the hateful man that has made your life hell since you were eleven, who killed Albus Dumbledore? Don't you want to bask in the glory that is his emotional defeat?" Snape said venomously, boring into her soul with his cruel and sorrowful words.

"No, Professor, I do not want to interrupt your time of solitude and deserved peace, as I would not wish you to do if I were in such a state," Hermione managed, hoping her remark would not fuel his turbulent temper.

He flung her away from him, and walked haggardly to resume his post next to the fire place. "Get out! Get out and stay out," Snape said resignedly. "Did you hear me? GET OUT!"

Hermione pelted as fast as her legs could carry her, away from the disturbing presence of Snape. She did not stop until she was safely behind the walls of her own chamber and collapsed on the floor, tears sliding down her cheeks. Pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging into them, she never felt so cold and alone.

She tried to understand what she had seen and what she had heard, touching the blackening marks where Snape's hand had crushed her wrist moments before, but she was numb to the pain. It seemed like the world Hermione knew, was crashing down around her and she could do nothing but watch, as it took everything and everyone she loved. She had no idea why the discovery of Snape's hidden torment had affected her so, but she knew that she couldn't face the world today. Climbing into bed, she wrapped the covers around herself like a cocoon, protecting her from the harsh reality and cruel state of the world.

Hermione slipped in and out of fitful dreams, some containing images of Ron and her parents and others involving a little boy, curled up against his door, in much the same state and position that she had been in at the start of the day. She recognised the face. It was a younger and much more innocent reflection, but Snape's pale hatred of the world and deep, lingering torment were evident in his black, cold eyes, that even in her imagination, bore into her soul and wrenched at the lonely part of her heart. She was more like the distant shadow of a man than she realised.

The clock struck eight pm and Snape was pacing the dungeon, thinking of the predicament he had gotten himself into. The girl had been frightened, deeply disturbed, he saw it in her eyes and could still feel her squirming under his harsh and domineering hand. Why had he hurt her so? After all, she was not to blame for his state of mind, or for being curious at the addition of smoke coming from a place, which he reminded himself, was extremely close to her heart. She had more right to find solitude in the little hut than he did, but still he could not extinguish the anger in his heart, directed more so at himself rather than the girl. How could he have become so careless, let his emotions control him and leave him like a sitting duck to innocent, prying eyes. Those eyes that bore into his soul, they were the eyes of a heart not untouched by grief, not unmarred by life, but far too young to be so wise and so melancholy. He had hurt her, he was in no doubt of that, and he cursed himself for doing it.

What was more disturbing was her absence from class, and on further investigation from every class that day. Snape knew that the last place she would venture would be the dungeons, but still he waited and paced, until lo and behold, a hesitant and hurried knock sounded on the hollow wood of the dungeon door. Opening it tentatively, there standing determinedly before the door was, Miss Granger. Moving backwards to allow her admittance, she hurried past him and stopped dead, turning to look Snape square in the eye.

"I meant what I said this morning, Professor. I am terribly sorry that I disturbed your peace and quiet. It was not my intention, and I assure you, was I aware of your presence, I would never have grossly interrupted your solitude," she said, her voice catching half way through.

Standing dumb struck, Snape closed the door and stood studying the solemn-faced, but obviously nervous student. Sighing audibly, he let himself show more of his character than he necessarily intended, but did not amend his lapse of defence.

"Miss Granger, it is I who should be asking for your forgiveness, and apologising to you. Not only was I completely out of line, but I physically assaulted you, and I am more sorry than you can imagine. I know full well the weight and depression that comes from being physically and mentally assaulted by someone who you believe to have power over you, and I allowed myself to wield that power in an unacceptable way. Please forgive my lapse of judgement, my only excuse, and it is a poor one, is that I was not in my right mind, forgive me," Snape concluded, with a sorrowful sigh, not daring to look towards the girl who at this moment held the weight of both their sorrows.

Taking a step closer, Hermione commanded attention, unintentionally using her limited knowledge of Legimency to entreat him to look at her. His eyes fixed on hers, for a moment the words she was sure of a split second before, caught in her throat, and for an instant she was torn between the urge to flee from his presence, and physically comfort him. Composing herself, she did neither and simply held his gaze, before she chose to speak, making sure she trod carefully. If nothing else, she had learned that Snape was easier to anger than a Care of Magical Creatures textbook.

"Professor, I no more blame you for your outburst, than I do the sun for setting. As you said, you know the depression that comes from being controlled, I know the desperation that comes from ones most private and intimate moments being invaded by prying eyes, no matter how innocent. I know you do not desire my pity, or my sympathy, so I will offer you none. I merely want to ensure you that I did not miss class today because of you, but for my own personal lamentations. You need not fear that what I have discovered, which is very little, will ever pass my lips to another living soul. Your business is your own, I am just sorry that I invaded it so carelessly." Hermione risked a long and unguarded gaze at the man that stood before her, before seating herself and continuing to work through the last of the first year potions quietly.

Snape stood watching the girl for a long while and finally came to his senses, drifting towards the bench where she was seated.

"Miss Granger, you are exempt from further detention, you may return to your chamber," Snape said with his usual cold and disdainful air, returning to his recomposed persona.

Hermione lifted her head and mustered all of the courage she possessed. She had planned on asking this question at a more opportune time, but seeing as he was presenting her with possibly her only opening, she plunged head first into what she knew would become, at best a heated discussion, and at worst, a catastrophe.

Standing up, she cleared her throat and made herself look directly into Snape's eyes.

"Well, I was wondering if I could have a word with you about that?" Hermione asked cautiously.

The look on his face made Hermione aware that his full defences were back in action and the frail and vulnerable Snape was no more.

"Perhaps I could handle one word from you, although I doubt very much whether you could limit yourself to even one hundred words in the space of a minute," Snape said, hurting even his own ears.

Seeing the look of momentary confusion and hurt written on Hermione's face, he summoned a seat and sat down, never taking his eyes of the young witch.

When Hermione failed to commence her tale, Snape said coldly, "Well, speak girl."

With Snape's harsh words came renewed strength, and Hermione cleared her throat, ready to divulge as much information as she could before the temperamental temper of her Potions Master would force her into silence.

"Professor, I know that you have never warmed to me, or even tolerated my presence, but I would like to ask you something, which I believe to be of the utmost importance," said Hermione, rather quickly.

"Yes, I believe we've established that you wish to ask me a question, Miss Granger, so if you could stop wasting both our time and get to the point, it would be much appreciated," Snape drawled.

Swallowing hard, Hermione continued with a steadier and more even tone, "Professor, I would like you to assist me in further studies regarding potions."

Shocked into silence, Snape gaped at Hermione until he found his tongue and said somewhat croakily, "Miss Granger, what would give you the idea that I would ever agree to such a preposterous notion. You are quite capable of passing your Potion N.E.W.T without any extra help from me."

"Professor, it is not the desire to do well at any exam that has fuelled my question," Hermione managed, gaining strength from the look of bafflement only just visible in Snape's pallid complexion. "To be brutally honest, I intend to undertake some individual research, and I am not ashamed to admit that I am by no means able to complete or even start it on my own."

"So you expect me to sacrifice my own personal time and energy to help you add another notch of brilliance to your belt. Well you thought wrong. I refuse to pamper your intellectual vanity, Miss Granger, now return to your chambers immediately!" Snape drawled venomously.

Refusing to obey the temperamental Potions Master, Hermione took a step towards him and opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a sickening sensation and an awful headache. Swooning, Professor Snape sat her down on a bench chair and waited for her speech to become coherent.

When she could stand without toppling over, Hermione lashed out and flung her fists at Snape's immovable form.

"How dare you, you cowardly, unfeeling bastard, how dare you, how dare you use Legimency! How...dare... you!" Hermione managed in between panted sobs and punches, the images of Ron and her parents floating through her mind, evoked by Snape's uncouth intrusion.

Not bothering to attempt to stop the aggravated witch, he said simply, "I had to be assured of your intentions, and believe me, Miss Granger, if you cannot cope with my behaviours, however uncouth they may seem, I suggest you leave," he said, grasping both of her hands mid punch.

Looking up into the cold, unreadable eyes of Snape, Hermione struggled against the Potions Master's firm grip on her fists, gaping at the unfeeling figure before her. Finally giving up her futile struggle, she stopped, and refusing to be ushered to sit down, glared at the man towering over her.

"You are the most unfeeling shadow of a man I have ever met! What gives you the right to probe into my mind, uninvited?" she said, through gritted teeth. She still had her reputation as Head Girl to think about.

"Would you have given me permission, Miss Granger?" asked Snape genuinely. After receiving no response he continued. "I had to be sure of your intentions and what exactly this personal research involves. Now I know the answers to both these questions, I can process the information and come to a conclusion about my next course of action."

Hermione stared at the bat like figure towering over her, and felt neither fear not hatred, but complete defiance. He was who he was, and he always got what he wanted, but not from her.

"Professor, you must excuse my momentary lapse of judgement. It was wrong of me to impose on your valuable time, asking you such a dim-witted question. I will leave you to your thoughts," she said, turning to leave. "Good evening, Professor."

Grasping her wrist with the same cold, clammy hands, Snape pulled her around to face him, with a far gentler demeanour gracing his countenance. "Miss Granger, I have not bid you leave. Do you not wish to hear what I have to say?" he enquired, raising one questioning eyebrow. "I will aid you in your personal research, Miss Granger."

"What?" She managed before collapsing onto a seat, conveniently summoned by the Potions Master.

"Do try to keep up, Miss Granger. I said I will help you. Now go to your chamber and return here at precisely eight pm tomorrow night," Snape said, turning from a bemused Hermione. "Oh, and you will not be skipping dinner any night which we are working together. I will not have you collapsing on my watch."

Regaining her courage and banishing the sickening feeling at the pit of her stomach, Hermione stood and mustered all the height that she was afforded.

"And what makes you presume that I would accept your help after your blatant disregard for my privacy?" she asked boldly.

With an audible sneer and obnoxiously arrogant air, Snape drawled, "Because you made it quite clear, Miss Granger, that you lack the means, self-determination and intelligence to complete your research, let alone start it without me. I will see you at eight pm sharp, Miss Granger. Now leave!"

"You know, you could have simply asked my intentions, Professor."

"And have wasted several of my highly precious hours in discovering what I gained in mere seconds. Now what would have been the point in that?" he said, with a huge smirk igniting his features.

With that, Snape left Hermione shell-shocked in the dungeon classroom.


	3. A Suprisingly Pleasant Encounter

Disclaimer: This world belongs to J.K. Rowling, I just like to dabble in it and create a bit of silliness. To all my fellow SS/HG fans and anyone who's just having a look please feel free to leave as many reviews as you like, I absolutely love getting feedback on my work.

Chapter 2 – A Surprisingly Pleasant Encounter

Harry awoke to the soft prodding of Hermione. Apparently he had stayed asleep longer than he had intended, having already missed breakfast, and in danger of missing his first class. Silently dressing and hurrying to leave the confines of his bedroom, disturbingly empty without Ron, he charged head first into Ginny. He helped her up, with a faint colouration to his cheeks, undoubtedly due to his hurried state, or at least that is what he hoped she would believe. Mumbling something along the lines of "late", "sorry" and "shit", Harry rushed with even more haste to the dungeons, where he would most likely find himself with a detention.

"Where the hell have you been, Harry? I woke you up fifteen minutes ago! You are so lucky Snape isn't here! Why isn't he here, he's usually so meticulous?" Hermione whispered loudly into Harry's ear, with a faint glimmer of curiosity.

"It is Professor Snape, Miss Granger, and perhaps if your nitwit Gryffindor house mates had bothered to show some respect to a group of Slytherin students, I would have made it to this class on time," droned Snape snidely, looking around the class as he strode towards his desk. "But seeing as you all have not even bothered to pull out your work books, one would assume that my absence was not lamented."

Reaching his desk and turning towards the students with a ghastly glare he spoke slowly, "One would also assume that being as frightful as my reputation affords me, you would all have begun hastily doing that which I just mentioned. Or perhaps I am not as disliked as I hoped, and you would all be perfectly happy to spend more time in my presence."

With that, all those who didn't already have their workbooks on their desk, which Snape noted was everyone minus one know it all Granger, hastily removed their books from their bags and began to read any passage that would give the illusion of interest.

"Just as I thought," he sneered. "Now, all of you who have not completed yesterday's assigned task will be assisting their neighbour to finely chop their ingredients for today's lesson, and will catch up, including the practical components of both this lesson and the one they deemed _necessary_ to leave uncompleted in their own time. This however will not be tonight, for I deem it _necessary_ that you all should participate in some humbling activity with Mr. Filch. I will know if you are lying."

"Shit shit shit, I completely forgot, and I thought I could actually get some sleep tonight," whispered Harry into Hermione's ear.

"Hush or Snape will hear you. I did all the necessary work for you last night. Here is the parchment," she whispered back.

"But, Herm, how did you do it? It's in my hand writing and it sounds exactly like me?" asked Harry flabbergasted.

"Hush, a magician does not reveal her tricks," giggled Hermione, suppressing a devilish grin, whilst continuing to read over the work set for the lesson.

"Ah, Potter, not too concerned with the well being of Miss Granger's ear to complete the assigned homework I see," said Snape amusedly, snatching the cleverly-crafted phony parchment off Harry's desk, "exceedingly impressive."

With a few choice words whispered under his breath, Harry mouthed thanks to Hermione and started on the lengthy and boring task set for the lesson.

"How can he think this is furthering our education? If anything I feel I am getting stupider by the second. If I have to tolerate any more of this, by the end of this year I will be as dull-witted as Malfoy's two brainless boyfriends!" sneered Hermione, half seriously, unbeknownst to her, receiving a raised eyebrow from Professor Snape.

The day went reasonably quickly and Hermione thought she was doing a marvellous job at ignoring the aching feeling in her abdomen caused by her despair. That was up until dinner.

Scanning the teachers' table she could not spot Snape anywhere. What terrible and torturous activities was he planning for her lesson in an hour? Why, oh why had she asked him to assist her? On further analysis, Hermione could think of only one reason Snape would have agreed to such a preposterous notion – to torment her!

Making sure she dressed herself in what Snape would deem "appropriate" attire. Hermione descended the stairs towards the dungeons. She was not as courageous as she had felt when requesting these particular lessons, but at least she didn't feel like being violently ill.

Hesitating before knocking on the foreboding door of the dungeons, Hermione entered at the request of an ill-tempered sounding Snape.

"Good evening, Professor," Hermione managed, surprisingly keeping her voice steadier than she felt.

"Though it is evening, I doubt whether it is as you put it, good." Snape inwardly laughed at the expression of sheer terror on Miss Granger's face. Oh how he was going to enjoy tormenting her.

"Miss Granger, you will follow me to my potions laboratory and you WILL NOT snoop! After tonight you will use the floo network to come directly to the lab, and wait patiently for my arrival."

With a nod of assent, Hermione followed the Potions Master into a dimly lit room, smelling of malt ale and spiced potions ingredients, or perhaps Snape's choice of cologne, and sat herself a safe distance from the slightly intimidating man, only to have him round on her and sit directly opposite. Sucking in a sharp breath, she tried to steady herself.

"Miss Granger, no one is forcing you to be here. If you find my presence so repulsive, perhaps it would be prudent to return to your room. I will not lament your absence I assure you," said Snape with his poisonous, acidic tone.

Surprisingly his coldness gave her newfound strength and she stared deep into his eyes. To her surprise Snape diverted his and rummaged through his pile of parchment.

"What has your research into the subject of psychology led you to, Miss Granger, and I'm not revering to the Muggle concept of the word?" Snape asked, with seemingly genuine interest.

"I have learnt that when altering the minds of witches, wizards and Muggles alike, the craft is temperamental. The complete removal of certain events, people, or spaces of time can lead to sometimes drastic and severe consequences," said Hermione in a half whisper. "The reinstating of such memories can be even more detrimental to the fragile configuration of the human condition. Often people, especially Muggles, who are subjected to long periods of time without certain memories, can never regain knowledge or understanding of them. Even with continual stimulation of the mind, it is possible that the person's brain will reject the memories altogether and further tampering would lead to the person's imminent death."

Hermione hung her head, emotionally exhausted by the effort it took her to keep her voice steady and reject physical outbursts of her grief. Managing to compose herself once more, she lifted her head and was taken aback at the look of pity and genuine understanding etched across the usually lifeless face of her Potions Master.

Seeing the recognition in Hermione's eyes, Snape's defences snapped back into action as he pulled several pieces of parchment out of the significantly large pile and handed them to the quiet, bewildered student.

"Excellent work, Miss Granger, you managed to formulate an answer that was not a direct quotation from a text book. I am surprised," said Snape, feeling a slight ache in his heart as he saw the flicker of unguarded hurt pass over the fine facial features of the solemn witch.

Watching Hermione read over the pieces of parchment, Snape wondered why she could not simply let them be, why she would rather risk their lives than move on with hers, and why he had not seen her genuine interest in his subject before tonight.

The night went swiftly, with Hermione copying notes from the parchments and Snape sorting through the rest of the pile, fuelling her ever-ready brain. When the clock struck twelve, the pair moved in sync, quickly packing away the traces of their evening of research and vacating the area.

"Goodnight, Professor," Hermione projected, stopping at the dungeon door.

Without warning, Snape appeared in the dungeon classroom just as Hermione was about to open the door to leave. "Goodbye, Miss Granger," he said, with a peculiar sneer, or was it almost a smile threatening to creep onto his face. "Oh, and I do hope that tonight was challenging enough for you. I would not wish you to become as dim-witted as Malfoy's two, oh what were your precise words – brainless boyfriends?"

Snape marvelled at the way Hermione's face went from its normal cheerful redness, to ghastly pale and then almost violently purple in the space of mere seconds. Satisfied that he had regained some of his usual terror in the eyes of the girl, he turned and left in a curtain of black, whooshing robes.

Hermione landed on her bed with a long sigh, trying to decipher all the bits of information that she hoped would eventually start to make sense. The only problem that she faced was the man that she had asked to help her. The harder she tried to understand him, the more confused and agitated she became. One minute he was cold and criticising, while the next he was understanding and helpful, even if only for a few moments at a time. Closing her eyes, Hermione willed away the images of her parents floating in her head, not realising that it had been some hours since she had even thought of Ron. The grief associated with his death was slowly starting to release its hold on her.

Opening her eyes, Hermione was momentarily blinded by the painfully bright rays of sunlight that seeped through the curtains. When she had regained her sight she was startled by a pile of black, leather-bound books propped neatly on the chair opposite her bed, being sniffed by her curious ginger cat. Removing the covers she swung her legs gingerly over the side of her four-poster into a pair of pink, fluffy slippers, given to her as by Lavender Brown as a parting gift when she had left the dorms to take up her new living quarters. She made her way towards the chair and examined one of the books, the very essence of Snape seeming to emanate from the crisp, musty pages.

Fingering through the pages of the worn, but carefully tended pile of books, Hermione didn't notice the slight pop sound that accompanied Professor Snape's head appearing in her fireplace. Watching her as she read through the pile at an extraordinarily fast rate, Snape did not notify her of his presence, and for several minutes went unobserved, until Hermione turned to grab a piece of parchment, ink and a quill. Seeing a figure out of the corner of her eye, Hermione's defences snapped into action. Muffling a scream, she pulled out her wand instantly, letting the books fly to the floor along with an open bottle of ink, unheeded.

Realising what and who she was pointing her wand at, Hermione forced her breathing to fall back into its regular pattern and desperately wished her heart-rate would return to normal. Trying to regain her composure, Hermione bit her bottom lip and stared at the floor, feeling increasingly self conscious as she noticed the mess on the carpet in front of her, and to her utter revulsion, what she had on her feet. Lifting her gaze to Snape, she noticed his eye line lift from the floor, to her horribly embarrassing slippers and travel painfully slowly up her body, to finally settle on her eyes. Staring at her with an unreadable expression, Hermione continued to bite her bottom lip and tried to look as comfortable as possible. He was a visitor in her quarters after all, not the other way around.

Staring into Hermione's brown eyes, Snape was at a complete loss for words. Focusing on the thought of the ridiculous nature of her footwear, he managed to regain the ability to formulate a sentence. Deliberately trying to increase the level of distain in his tone he said, "I see that your tastes differ from that which you portray as Head Girl," glancing at her slippers, "I had thought that you would prefer less stereotypically feminine clothing, but judging by your choice of footwear, it appears I was mistaken."

Regaining the last of his composure Snape almost smiled at the expression that comprised both insecurity and fierce determination etched across Hermione's face. Receiving no answer from the girl, he took a more direct approach. "Miss Granger, forgive me for disturbing you. I see you have received the books I sent you and I expect you to have read through all of them thoroughly before tonight's lesson. I suspect this will be an easily attainable goal judging by the pace of your reading. Good day," Snape said, with a slight nod he disappeared from the fireplace.

Hermione stood for several minutes staring at the fireplace. Not even Crookshanks' attempts at getting her attention could snap her out of her shocked state. Had Snape just given her a compliment? Had he just looked her up and down without painstakingly obvious disdain in his glance? Had he just looked at her with something akin to attraction, or lust? Shaking her head vigorously she tried to banish the discomforting thoughts forming in her mind, the over-analysing nature of her brain rapidly becoming detrimental to her state of wellbeing.

Finally realising that if she did not remove the bottle of ink from its current position she would not only have no ink to complete her work, but also a huge black stain on the crimson red carpet, Hermione said a few quick charms and returned the mess on the floor to appropriate places, eliminating the stain of Snape's presence. Deciding to wash away the disturbing thoughts, she stepped into the shower and let the warm rush of water purify her mind and body.

Wrapping a towel around her form, Hermione returned to her room and noticed a vial of rose coloured liquid next to the books on her chair. Abandoning her previous notion of giving Crookshanks a much needed bath she examined the potion vial and read the label and instructions, written in the fine and elegant hand of none other than Professor Snape.

"Taming the Shrew, formulated ingredients designed to combat wild, unmanageable hair. Why the hell would Snape give me this? Perhaps he didn't find my appearance pleasing after all," said Hermione to herself, bewildered and slightly sickened by the thought of Snape ever finding her attractive.

Abandoning the bottle, Hermione dressed in her school robes and made her way down to the common room. She was not going to give Snape the satisfaction of having to help her with her appearance.

As she was descending the stairs she was ambushed by a hysterical Harry ushering her up into his room.

"Harry, Harry, what's wrong, slow down," Hermione managed, pulling her arms from his grasp she stopped and planted her feet firmly on the ground. "Harry James Potter, if you do not tell me what is going on right now I am not moving a single step further."

Looking at the immovable form of Hermione, Harry swallowed hard and stopped his frantic movements.

"Hermione, I just need to talk to you about something, just please come inside," he said pleadingly.

Following Harry into his room, she was pulled rather forcefully into a sitting position on his bed. Only slightly regretting her choice of friends, Hermione waited patiently for the admission that was sure to come at an alarmingly fast rate.

After several minutes of sitting in awkwardly buzzing silence Hermione decided to break the mood and speak first. "Harry, what is it, what's wrong? The only time you seek me out to talk is either to ask for help with, or to formulate a plan that involves breaking copious amounts of rules. I thought the latter would be over by now and you know perfectly well that I will NOT help you with homework you actually remember to do!" Hermione said rather irately.

In an attempt to steady his nerves and movements Harry grabbed Hermione's shoulders, slightly scaring her. "Herm, you're a girl," he managed.

Relaxing slightly, she said, "Well spotted there, Harry, any more epiphanies you want to let me know of? I'll be in my room studying." She got up to leave and he pulled her back down.

Bracing himself Harry started again. "No, what I mean is, you've had boyfriends and relationships, you know what girls think. I well I... SHIT. I can't do this; she's his sister for Christ sake. How could I even think of this, I'm such a..."

Hermione pulled Harry into a warm embrace, almost smothering him with her shoulder. "Harry, you've liked Ginny for years and she's liked you since she met you. Ron knew it and was just grateful you never did anything while she was young and didn't toy with her. Ron wouldn't want us to stop living, and although we might wish we could join him more times than not, we do have to keep fighting. Go for it, go get her, Harry. You've gone through so much and you need, deserve some happiness." Putting her hand over Harry's mouth so he was unable to protest, Hermione kissed him on the cheek and pushed him out the door.

"GO GET HER, HARRY!" she yelled after him, chuckling softly and then quieting as she became suddenly aware of the absence of Ron's bed from Harry's room.

A loud thumping noise disturbed Hermione's depressing thoughts, as Ginny ran up and pelted her with hugs and kisses. "What did you do, Herm? How did you get him to like me, to really like me?" Ginny asked in the middle of her frantic kisses and tears.

"Ginny, I didn't have to _do_ anything except tell him that Ron would have wanted it. He loves you, and has loved you for an awfully long time. He deserves some happiness." Hermione smiled, the expression barely touching her eyes.

Ginny saw the way Hermione's face crumpled when she thought no one was looking, and recognised the signs of repressed agony, but she was unsure as to how to broach the subject with her. Deciding that being honest, and as unobtrusive as possible was by far the best course of action, she supposed that now was as good a time as any.

"You deserve happiness too, Hermione. Look, I know you think you can handle everything, that you must to be strong, but you don't always have to be. I'm here, Harry's here. We love you, we care about you. We want to see you happy," she said hesitantly. "We both miss Ron, I know it's not the same, but I'm not asking you to forget him, just to try and be happy." Ginny smiled reassuringly at Hermione, squeezing her hands lightly.

"I know, Ginny, but I think I might be getting there. I will never stop thinking of him, and there's not a day goes by that something doesn't remind me of him, but I think I am happy. Well, content at least. I know that he's out there looking at us, and he'd want me to be happy," she said, deciding to infuse the discussion with something more positive, "and will be jumping for joy that Harry finally grew some balls and told you how he felt."

Hermione reassured her that she was fine, and insisted that she go monopolise Harry, that she had mountains of homework, and wanted nothing more than a nice relaxing bubble bath. She walked arm in arm with her best friend, and walked into her quarters feeling lighter than she had all year. The truth was that Hermione was ecstatic that her friends were finding some happiness, and weirdly felt like her words to Ginny hadn't been false. Somehow, their happiness had made her feel less guilty for the contentment that she was sure her potion lesson had afforded her, although she had previously been unaware of the guilt gnawing away at her subconscious.

Focusing on her work, Hermione got through the day happier than she'd been in months, and thinking of her lesson tonight only made her even more positive. She was learning so much, and she loved it. To her surprise her teacher wasn't as bad as he was in class. He was reasonably tolerable and weirdly intriguing. _What am I thinking? Intriguing, he is not intriguing, he is Severus Snape, and he is my teacher, loathsome, foul and so very intelligent. How can I actually like him, how on earth can I actually want to spend time with him, and how can I want to earn his praise and good opinion more than ever?_

Running to her room after dinner, Hermione decided to wear more comfortable clothes rather than her stiff school robes. Hopefully Snape would not feel it was inappropriate. She made perfectly certain that they were not too tight but also weren't completely grotesque, showing no more than an exposed ankle. Snape could hardly object. Climbing into the fireplace she uttered the words – Snape's Private Potions Lab, and was instantly transported to the far dirtier fireplace.

Stepping out, she realised that her clothes were completely covered in soot, brushing herself down she unpacked her bags and resolved to fix this problem that would undoubtedly destroy all her clothes if she did not do something. Getting her wand out of her pocket, she uttered a cleansing charm in the direction of the fireplace. Instantly it looked cleaner and the smell omitting from it less toxic, the fire burnt brighter and seemed to add some sort of homely nature to the Professor's unwelcoming tastes.

Hearing the click of the door opening, Hermione sat herself in the chair she had occupied the night before and started re reading the information she had written notes on after her lesson. Entering the room with far less superiority, Snape still seemed to change the whole mood, although not in a wholly unpleasant manner.

"What have you done to my fireplace, Miss Granger? It seems to be burning brightly like your insipid spirits."

"Well, I cannot be flooing into a fireplace which is liable to destroy all of my clothes by the end of the year. I did a simple cleansing charm. I think it adds a bit of a homely nature to this cold, dark dungeon, although I'm sure you probably liked it better how it was before." Stifling a grin, Hermione peered at the teacher who had made her life and the life of her friend's hell for six years, and for some reason, liked him very much.

Spending another weirdly enjoyable night talking and listening to Snape, sharing their passion for Potions, Hermione realised something quite disturbing. She had more in common with her cold and insulting professor than even her two best friends, even, her beloved Ron. He thought like her, at least about matters concerning potions and, well no, that was it as far as she could tell, which was evidently not far, but somehow it fit. The one thing she had been missing in her life, an intellectual equal. This did not go unnoticed by Snape either. Why hadn't he noticed it before, and why the hell did she have to be in Gryffindor? Most importantly, why did he not rebuke her when she spoke disrespectfully towards him? Could it be that he craved companionship more than he'd ever feared possible, that he would let this insufferable girl worm her way into his affections? What was he thinking? What affections? It was all codswallop!

Hermione bolted upright in her bed. _I did not just have that dream! I did not just imagine, Severus... Snape... SNAPE... Oh my goodness. _She shook herself violently, trying to banish the disturbing thoughts that spilled over into her conscious mind.

Ripping the covers off her shaking form, Hermione leapt out of bed and into a freezing cold shower. Unaware that yet another bottle of the strange rose coloured liquid lay on the dresser, nearest the fire.

The weeks went by in relatively the same manner. Hermione's dreams were a mixture of tortured images of her parents and ever less frequently Ron, intermingled with the images of Snape that she never wanted to see again. Or maybe she did. Going through the motions was easy enough. Get dressed, have breakfast, go to lessons, study, have dinner, meet with Snape. All pretty normal aspects of student life, except for the last part of course. As far as anyone knew, Snape was simply punishing Hermione for being a know-it-all, inventing excuse, after excuse to give her detention. Little did they know that their little evenings of research were the happiest hours of both their days.

Snape awoke with yet another slightly warm sensation between his legs. Not even bothering to look beneath the covers, he removed his hand from its seemingly favourite night time position, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to eradicate the images of a very lovely, very flushed Hermione Granger from his mind.

He ripped the covers off, and calmly strode towards the bathroom. Stepping into the shower, instead of thrashing himself with cold, unfeeling water, he stood there motionless, replaying the images of her glorious body, over and over again. His hand had begun to lightly travel down his chest, when he snapped out of his reverie, utterly ashamed with his lack of restraint and decorum, blasting himself with a stream of icy cold water.

Snape had no idea where these images had come from. Yes, he had developed a healthy respect for the girl, for the GIRL, his student, but nothing out of the ordinary. Yes, he had noticed she was not the gangly, undeveloped child he had remembered, but neither was she a goddess. He wondered irritably why she wouldn't accept his potion for her unmanageable clump of hair. Although, as he surveyed his appearance in the mirror, he realised he was not a paragon of self-preservation either. Deciding to rectify the situation, he strode out of the castle and Apparated to Hogsmeade, where he booked in for a haircut at the least feminine establishment he could find.

Walking swiftly to the dungeons, he surveyed his appearance for the second time that day. It was better. The woman had not been lying when she said it took at least five years off his complexion. He'd allowed her to apply some anti-grease serum to his now silky hair, and had even taken the time to shave. His hair now sat a few inches beneath his chin, and was pulled back into a short pony tail at the nape of his neck. He looked, ok, maybe not fantastic, but, well, not bad either. The bits of hair at the front, just beneath his ears framed his face, revealing the solid and masculine, rather than angular facial structure he possessed. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all. At the beginning of his career, being as young as he was, there had been many a young girl who had developed an unhealthy liking for his subject, but mainly the professor teaching it. The image of Hermione's face appeared at the forefront of his mind. Idly he went about his day, subconsciously wondering whether she would notice the change, or perhaps even appreciate it.

Stepping through the fireplace, Hermione stifled her gasp of shock as she laid eyes on Severus, no SNAPE! He was, handsome. Shaking her head violently, she strode towards her usual desk and tried, unsuccessfully to continue with their research.

"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, his tone seeming silky and seductive to Hermione's ears.

"Not at all, Professor, I was just, just."

"Just," Snape prodded.

"Well to be honest, Professor. I was just admiring your new hair style. I hope you do not find this inappropriate, but, well I think it suits you," Hermione said speedily, feeling a crimson blush rising to her cheeks.

Burying her face in her book, she hoped Snape hadn't seen her appalling display of self-control, and mentally thrashed herself for her disgusting behaviour.

"As much as that revelation enthrals me, it will not help bring your parents back, now will it, Miss Granger? Have you any worthy comments to make. Regarding our research, and not the state of my person, of course?" he asked, silently happy that she had noticed.

"No, Professor, I'm sorry I disturbed you."

Hermione continued to study the book thoroughly, trying desperately to avoid any replay of the images she had dreamt only the night before, until something caught her eye.

"Oh my goodness, Professor!" Hermione yelled ecstatically.

Snape rushed over to where she was now standing, with a painfully thrilled expression encompassing her face. Trying to stifle the smile that threatened to touch his lips, he spoke carefully, "What has gotten you into such hysterics, Miss Granger?"

"Listen to this. 'The French Potion, Restauration de mémoire, is a long discarded antidote for long-term memory loss, particularly for those who have sustained severe trauma to the hippocampus, or are susceptible to fragility of the mind in regards to replacement and/or removal of large portions of memory.' It basically says that due to the Muggle properties intermingled with complex Potions, it was discarded for more effective methods of restoring memories to strictly Wizarding society," Hermione beamed. "This is what we were looking for. The muggle rudiments make it needlessly time consuming for Wizards as they don't need the specific elements contained in the potion. This was used when Wizards still aimed at healing the Muggle world. It's a potion for Muggles, Severus," Hermione rambled, so lost in deep thought that the correct mode of address eluded her.

Choosing to let her use of his given name slide, he was lost in the look of utter thirst for knowledge etched across Hermione's face. Yes, if she was able to call him Severus, he would think of her as Hermione, not his Hermione, but Hermione just the same.

"I knew you had it in you, Miss Granger. That's a fine effort. You have finally discovered something we can work with. I am, proud of you. Hermione," Snape said, mentally cursing himself for being so unguarded with his emotions.

Hermione shot a momentary look of confusion, snapping into an expression of utter gratitude and listless happiness. _She really is an amazing witch. _

They continued to work on into the night, ignoring the clock as it slid hours past curfew, until Hermione fell asleep on her book. Snape sat there, watching the way her face looked so vulnerable and care-free while she slept. A stray hair slipped over her face, and he gently twisted it back behind her ear. An hour passed and he decided he was going to take the care of her hair into his own hands. Summoning the rose coloured liquid he applied it with a few flicks of his wand. Her hair fell gracefully into little ringlets, devoid of the frizzy nature they usually held. She looked even more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. This was dangerous, and he knew it, but still he couldn't bring himself to end this charade. He would never overstep the boundaries of teacher and student, never abuse her trust, but he couldn't stop wondering, if when she left Hogwarts, whether she'd miss the bat of the dungeons.

Lifting her lightly into his arms, he used the Floo network to transport them both into her quarters and laid her down on the bed. Without thinking he gently kissed the top of her head. Her eyes flew open, and her arms immediately wrapped possessively around his neck, her face inching closer by the second. Battling with his mind, he untangled her arms and forced himself to condescendingly pat her head, leaving the room in a swirl of black and seductively mysterious robes.

'Restauration de mémoire' is French for: Memory restoration. Just thought it added a bit of authenticity, and it was fun to look things up in the translator

Hippocampus: A ridge in the floor of each lateral ventricle of the brain that consists mainly of gray matter and has a central role in memory processes, especially long-term memory. I thought that doing a bit of research might also add to the authenticity, and perhaps make my explanation of how they can restore her parent's memory more believable.


	4. Wishful Thinking

Disclaimer: This world belongs to J.K. Rowling, I simply like to put my spin on the story. To all my fellow SS/HG fans and anyone who's just having a look, please feel free to leave as many reviews as you like, I absolutely love getting feedback on my work.

Author's Note/Response to Reviews: Firstly, thank you for your encouragement. It is greatly appreciated. Secondly, pstibbons' review recently brought my attention to my failure to describe Ron and Hermione's relationship, and the way in which he died. I am not a great Ron fan to be quite honest. I never thought that the temperaments of the two characters would work beyond dating, and as such left him absent from the story. Sorry if this created any friction, but I will rectify this situation ASAP. Thank you again for your encouragement.

Warning: There is a more sexual content in this next chapter, nothing graphic, but definitely alluded to. Hopefully this does not hinder anyone's enjoyment of the story. I write what I would enjoy reading, so I can only hope that others enjoy it too.

Chapter 3 – Wishful Thinking

Waking from a pleasant and slightly frustrating dream, Hermione swore she could almost feel Snape's cold lips on her forehead. The one thing that puzzled her about the beginning of the dream was his actions. Never before had he left her with nothing more than a platonic gesture. She felt oddly dissatisfied.

Lying on her back, Hermione had never really had any sexual fantasies. Even when with Ron, their intimacy had been quite innocent, Hermione wishing to wait till marriage to begin their sexual relationship. The feelings she was experiencing now were strange, but pleasant. More times than not, she would awake with a strange tingling between her legs, and now she thought she understood what Lavender had been talking about for all those years.

Infused with this sense of satisfaction, was deep imbedded guilt. How could she be thinking of another man in this way, when she hadn't even allowed herself to be this free with Ron, her Ronald? She had loved him, so deeply, but more and more, as she felt the signs of lust and wanting building up inside her, she wondered whether it would truly have worked. Could a relationship without passion, without burning need, truly survive marriage? If there was no fire at the beginning of a relationship, could there really be any in the middle, and what about the end?

Hermione's mother had always infused her with a sense of virtue. She had always been open-minded, always able to talk about everything. A bit too much for Hermione's liking. She had said that many a young man would tempt her, and that if she felt her heart being pulled along with the fire, then she should follow it, but that nothing compared to the utter happiness and fulfilment that came from being loved by one man. Of course her mother had not meant what Hermione took her to mean, but all the same, her values had been shaped, and only now did she feel the beginning of her resolve starting to crumble. This scared and saddened her. Why had these feelings been absent when she was with Ron?

The feelings Hermione had felt for Ron had developed in third year, and had continued to grow, until finally, at the beginning of their search for the Horcruxes, he had taken her into his arms, and professed his love for her. If she was honest with herself, she had supposed love would have felt somewhat different to the slight fluttering sensation she had felt in her chest, but she had thought it was merely the relief that it was finally happening, that had made her so unremarkably complacent. If she could feel this way about a man she hardly liked, perhaps her relationship with her best friend, and companion, was just that – friendship.

Banishing the sick feeling that accompanied these depressing revelations, Hermione jumped out of bed and started busying herself with the little homework she had not yet completed, until a loud clearing of a throat caught her attention.

"I wondered if I could have a word, Miss Granger. If you are not otherwise engaged," Snape said. How did everything he uttered turn to honey in her ears? So smooth, so silky, so seductive.

Noticing his awaiting stare she replied, "Of course, Professor. Would you prefer me to come through, or would you like to simply converse through the Floo?"

Snape studied her expression. She seemed to have no recognition of last night's events, or her face would have contorted into revulsion at the very sight of him. _Excellent_, he reassured himself, trying to eliminate the sinking feeling that seemed to form in the pit of his stomach.

"If you would be so kind as to come through, this is of a practical nature."

"Certainly, Professor, if you could just give me a minute to dress appropriately, I will be right through."

Rushing around to find some clean clothes, Hermione stopped. She had the strangest feeling that what she thought was simply a dream, was devastatingly a reality. The way he surveyed her expressions carefully, and schooled his own into an unreadable mask, seemed to confirm it. _Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my. What am I to do? I almost kissed him. I almost kissed, Snape! _Hermione thought, horrified.

Stepping through the Floo, Snape was nowhere to be found. Calling out, there was no response. Seeing the door to his chambers slightly ajar, Hermione opened it further, peeking inside. The solid form of Snape's topless body assaulted her, and she had to grasp the door frame firmly to stop from fainting. He was, beautiful, handsome, attractive. While one would assume that his body would be all lank and no muscles, appearances could be deceiving. Instead of thin arms and bones protruding from transparent skin, his arms were wiry, his rib cage full, and his shoulders well formed and strong. The urge to caress his pearly white skin, angelic and inviting, rather than ghostly, was almost unbearable. As he began to unbutton his trousers, Hermione ripped her eyes away, choosing to sit at the desk and await his return, with her hands balled into fists in her lap.

Peering through the crack of the open door, Snape could see her anxious, stiff form. Perhaps he had been wrong, she did remember, and was feigning ignorance for his benefit. What had possessed him to do something so stupid? She was surely battling with the urge to flee, or belt him over the head – the two urges he himself was suppressing.

Realising that now was a good a time as any, Snape strode through the door, trying not to aggravate her further. She seemed to relax at his presence, which confused him exceedingly. Hermione had always let her emotions play all over her face. Could she have changed so much to become such a good actress?

He was surprised that the Weasley boy had taken so long to realise she was in love with him, but could they have ever been truly happy? Could Hermione have ever been content with the brainless, bulging hero of the Golden Trio? He thought not, but then what did he know? He had only loved once, and the woman in question had loathed him. Suppressing the images threatening to spill over into his mind, he cleared his throat and began to relate his findings to Hermione. If they combined the potion she had discovered the previous night, with several charms, they should be able to reinstate her parents' memories.

Hermione listened as he explained his theory eloquently, his silky drawl washing over her like a Calming Draught. She barely noticed when the discussion subsided, Snape fixing her with a confused and slightly listless expression. The Christmas holidays were drawing ever closer and she needed to ask Snape yet another favour.

"Professor, I know you will probably say that my request is inappropriate and out of the question," she rambled.

"One would wonder why you would bother to ask it then, Miss Granger," Snape drawled.

Finding a new wave of confidence, Hermione started again, "Severus, I, well, I, I can't administer the potion or the charms by myself. I was wondering, hoping, no, desperately wanting you to agree to accompany me to my parent's home."

"That is absolutely out of the question! It is highly improper, and besides, your parents are in Australia," Snape snapped, resolutely.

"No, they are not. They have moved to England, they have, they have bought the house I grew up in," Hermione whispered, fighting back tears.

Placing one unsure hand on Hermione's shoulder, Severus spoke quietly, "Hermione, you do understand that this may not work. That, that your parents may be lost to you forever. Perhaps you should ask your friends for their support. They are more qualified I am sure, than a grumpy, greasy bat of the dungeons," Snape said, infusing his words with both comfort and sadness.

Looking up to his face, Hermione was taken aback by the look of genuine concern for her welfare, and felt the undeniable urge to kiss him. Instead, she said steadily, "Professor, Severus, I, I trust you more than I have, well, more than I have trusted anyone in, well, in a long time. I, I want you to be there to help me. I feel like you, like you understand loss. Yes I know Harry does as well, but, well, I haven't shared my research with anyone but you, and I, well, it's private. I hope you will consider accompanying me. I will try to desist from asking inane questions, and, well, try to limit myself to at least one hundred words in the space of a minute." She smiled weakly.

Taking her hand in his own, he said sorrowfully, "I pity the person who relies on me for emotional support." Lifting her chin to look him in the eyes, he continued, "If you insist that you wish me to accompany you, I will not refuse you in your time of need. Have you thought of a way that will enable you to administer the potion?"

"No, I rather hoped you could help on that account. Being a world famous spy and all," Hermione said, with a slightly laugh in her voice.

Smiling genuinely at the girl in front of him, he had an almost uncontrollable urge to kiss her, but instead he did something perhaps just as dangerous. He enveloped her in his cloak, in a warm embrace. Instead of stiffening, to Severus' increasing surprise, Hermione melted to him, her hands balling in the fabric of his cloak. Moving his fingers softly along her back, he heard the slightest catch in her breathing, as he realised his hand had ventured to the small of her back. Her innocent eyes looked up into his, and he noticed how they flicked between their current position and his mouth, hers parted and slightly moist. Immediately releasing her, he bid her go back to her rooms, and stood shell-shocked.

_What am I doing?_ He chastised himself. _She is a student, she is just a child. Well, not a child, of legal age. _He remembered her birthday celebrations vividly, too vividly. This was becoming increasingly dangerous. He had to stop this, but how? Without breaking both their already fragile hearts, there was no way to separate himself from her.

Images of her moist lips haunted him all day, as he attempted to perfect the incantations for their research. Oh how this task was going to become increasingly more difficult when they had to spend more time in each other's presence.

Hermione tried to focus on her essay for Charms, and also tried to focus as she battled Harry in DADA, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop the image of Snape's topless form from entering her mind. He was exquisite. Even the scars on his back, the slight imperfections caused by years of battle, were mouth-watering. No, Hermione wasn't immature enough to think this was love, oh no, it was lust, pure and glorious lust, and she was ashamedly loving every minute of it.

Their nightly sessions became more and more tense, her sexual frustration reaching new heights of exasperation. She wanted to touch him, to feel him touch her. This was not right and definitely not healthy. How could she be doing this to herself? It was evident that he could never reciprocate, never want her like she desperately wanted him.

The weeks went by, and Severus made certain that he didn't so much as brush Hermione's arm, but his dreams, well they weren't his own. Every night he would wake with a discontented feeling, violently refusing to relieve himself while thinking of his student. This continued until his inaction forced his body to take its own pleasure, and now he'd awake with a sticky mess between his legs, even more dissatisfied than previously. Although he did not wish to tempt fate, he still took pains to make himself presentable, washing his hair and applying the anti-grease serum without fail, everyday. He amused himself by eavesdropping on student conversations, when he would sometimes hear his name mentioned not out of hatred, but out of... admiration, hunger. He was, attractive to the opposite sex.

As the Christmas holidays were a mere week away, Severus decided to take matters into his own hands. Before travelling with Miss Granger, yes it was sensible to even think of her as that now, he would go to Hogsmeade, find a woman, and break his trend of celibacy.

Apparating to an inconspicuous bar, he surveyed the women in the room. As he expected, there were a few sitting by themselves, their pathetic minds thinking one thing – find me a man. That would do nicely. Picking the one furthest away from the other occupants, Severus walked confidently towards her and took the empty seat.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, in his most seductive voice, noting with satisfaction, that she became slightly dazed at the resonant sound his low voice produced.

"Sure, if you tell me your name," the lady said, flashing a dazzling smile his way. Her hair was curly, light brown, but not frizzy. She was petite, with slightly tanned skin. "In fact, I don't much like exercising while intoxicated. How about we just get a room and go for it?" She was far more forward than he'd imagined.

"How can you be sure that that was my intention?" he whispered into her ear, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger.

She didn't utter a word, but moved noiselessly to stand by the bar, speaking in hushed whispers to the bartender, grasping the key he offered with a wink. Following her up the staircase, he closed the door behind him, taking in her form. To his surprise, he realised how similar in physical appearance she was to his forbidden love.

Looking over at the sleeping form of the nameless beauty lying next to him, Severus contemplated what he'd just done. One night stands were nothing adventurous, nothing remarkably inventive, but the last thing that went through his mind during their coupling, was nothing else but the image of Hermione's plump, moist, parted lips and pleading eyes.

Hermione had the strangest feeling that something was wrong. She hadn't been able to get in contact with Severus about their trip. She was stressing. What had happened to him and what was she going to do? How was she going to get into their house, let alone be able to put something in their tea? If her parents were the same as they'd been in her time, they would no more let her through the front door than adopt a stray cat.

Snape quietly retrieved his clothes, and dressed himself, not bothering to survey his appearance in the dingy mirror of the hotel room. Casting one last glance over his shoulder at the sleeping woman, he left the room, and the bar, heading to his quarters to drown his sorrows in some Firewhisky. After five, overly full glasses, he sat in front of the fire, contemplating his feelings. Severus was not foolish enough to think this was love, oh no, it was lust, forbidden, tempting lust, and although he knew he shouldn't, he was loving it. He felt alive, and that frightened and energised him.

Deciding to eliminate the worrisome thoughts her over-active imagination were concocting, Hermione went to Snape's lab, and began recalculating their final research, checking, yet again for any errors. Of course there would be none, but none the less, she was determined to preoccupy herself.

Severus stumbling out of his armchair, and began to unbutton his shirt, discarding it as he walked towards his room. Hearing rustling coming from his lab, he decided that giving one of the elves a verbal beating would cheer him up nicely. Opening the door roughly he was taken aback by the haggard form of Hermione.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here, Miss Granger," he uttered, after several minutes of standing, and gawking at her frightened form.

"I was, well, I was nervous and I thought I'd do some last minute recalculating,' she replied, her eyes raking down his shapely chest.

Walking towards her, Severus stumbled, Hermione rushing to steady him. Looking into each other's eyes, Severus leaned down, and kissed her lips, already parted in silent invitation. Feeling his passion, Hermione threw her arms around his neck, burrowing her fingers in his silky hair, mashing her lips against his, with unrelenting passion. Her tongue darted out to taste his lips that she had dreamed about for so long, but instead of the sweet, spicy aroma that she had imagined, she was assaulted by a strong, almost unpleasant taste of Firewhisky.

He was drunk. He was drunk, and that was the only reason he wanted her. The only reason he was kissing her right now, and when he woke up and realised what he'd done, he'd be disgusted, he wouldn't be able to look at her again.

Pushing back suddenly, Hermione stared into Snape's unfocused eyes, and ran for the door, ignoring the Floo connection in her haste, leaving him to stand there, mortified with himself, misinterpreting her actions severely, to the detriment of them both.

Snapping himself out of his horridly rigid daze, Snape ran for his room. Slamming the door, he rummaged around his closet to find his suitcase. Throwing all the clean clothes he could find into the small bag, he rushed out the door, scrawling a quick note to Minerva, detailing his plans for a much needed vacation that had been pushed forward by the inept management of the cottage he had booked, and that if she needed to get in contact with him, she couldn't.

Snape left the confines of his quarters, and stormed across the grounds, Apparating as soon as he was able. Thinking of nowhere he would not be traced, other than Spinner's End, the one place no one would ever think of, the one place he had not ventured into since the end of the war, Snape blasted open the door, and stumbled into the dingy hallway, passing out, unconscious onto the dusty, grimy floor.

Hermione was frantic. She had just kissed her teacher! Well, in all fairness he had kissed her, but he'd been drunk, she'd been in his quarters well past curfew, and it was a miracle she hadn't been discovered by Filch. All the horrible consequences of her unguarded moment started tumbling around in her head, each one fighting for dominance. Collapsing onto her bed, Hermione fell into a frightful fit of exhausted, disturbed nightmares.

Waking in a pool of sweat, the image of Snape's face, distorted into a hateful scowl, his words cutting her heart anew, replayed through her mind. _I cannot bear to look at you. How could you imagine I would react to kissing a filthy, ugly, untalented, sappy follower of He-who-will-never-fucking-die? You disgust me. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!!_

Jumping out of her bed, Hermione thrashed the suitcase, neatly laid out at the bottom of her bed, towards the door. Ripping a piece of parchment out of her draw, she scrawled a quick note to Harry.

_Harry,_

_I'm so sorry that I didn't get to say goodbye. Tell Ginny I'll miss her. Don't come looking for me. I will come back, I just need some time to think. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I love you, you're my best friend. Have fun. Happy Christmas._

_Hermione _

Stumbling out of her quarters, and rushing across the grounds, she barely registered where she was going, until she found herself facing the once happy home of her youth. Skilfully jumping the fence, Hermione quickly located the shrubbery that had once housed her during her endless games of hide and seek with her mother, so overgrown, that her larger form and the suitcase she hadn't bothered to shrink, were covered easily by the homely, somewhat comforting bush.

The beams of the sun shined harshly down through the gap of the leaves, disturbing Hermione's fitful nightmare, making her aware of the comforting hand resting on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, the image of her mother's face startled her, the lines of concern shocking Hermione out of her daze.

"Dear, are you alright? You look deathly pale," the all too familiar voice of her mother projected.

Too stunned to respond, she was vaguely aware of the strong arms of her father carrying her into the house, placing her onto the couch.

Hours later, Hermione awoke to find that she had not been dreaming. The sun was just poking through the fog outside the window, and she vaguely remembered her parents ushering her inside, realising the beam of light would have been a torch rather than the sun.

"Sweetheart, she's awake," her mother called.

Clearing her eyes, Hermione drank in the image of her mother's form, trying to eliminate the distressed feelings the lines of concern produced. But before she could properly take in her mother's physical form, her father burst in, a matching look of worry gracing his face. He looked older, more distinguished, with a slight tinge of grey highlighting his hair.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked, causing Hermione to almost burst with unvoiced sadness, and longing.

"I'm not quite sure," she lied. "I walked for so long, I, I think I got lost, or fell, or, I don't really remember." At least the last part was true, she had no idea how she'd made her way home, no, to her parents' house.

Hermione made to sit up, but the steady hands of her mother pushed her gently back down.

"No, darling, stay where you are, you need to rest. I'm sorry we don't have anywhere more comfortable for you to sleep, we've only recently moved in you see," said her mother. "Did you know the old occupants of this house?" After getting no response, she continued. "I only ask because I thought that perhaps that was why you had chosen our backyard to take refuge, but never mind. You'll be on your feet in no time."

A stray tear escaped, running down her cheek, and Hermione rushed to wipe it away, but not before her mother had seen the display.

"I don't wish to sound as if I am prying, but if you would like to talk about whatever it is that is troubling you, I would be most happy to listen," she said, with a comforting smile. "I'm a councillor you see, so I am used to listening." She was taken aback by the look of utter shock painted on Hermione's face. "Why, dear, you look as if you've seen a ghost."

Composing herself, Hermione spoke steadily, "No, sorry, you just caught me off guard. It's just, well, you don't look like a councillor, you look more like a, well, a dentist really."

The bell like quality of her mother's laugh almost broke Hermione's heart. She was battling with the urge to force her mother to see who she was, and the joy that her parents were happy.

"You're not the first to have said that, actually. Some of our neighbours say we resemble a family who used to live here, but we have no living relatives."

Hermione looked around the house she longed to call home, everything was the same, yet different. The biggest shock of all was the change in her parents. They had welcomed her into their home. They seemed happy, happier than they had in her time. This was a dangerous path to travel down, leading to only one conclusion, the common denominator of the situation – Hermione.

Sitting up, Hermione realised that she had been presented with the easiest solution to her problems. She would repay their kindness by making a dinner, conveniently putting the potion, shrunk to the size of a pin, hanging around the chain Ron had given her, into the food, or the wine she served them. It was all too easy, but she didn't care. Finally something was going right. With her parents back, why would she need the approval of a sour Potions Master? No, she wouldn't think about him, she would not even think his name. That was one bridge that she felt sure she had burnt, and trying to mend it now would only cause her more pain. No, he had helped her all he could. It was better this way. Normal. Yes, everything was regaining a sense of slightly empty normality.

Severus woke in a puddle of his own sick, and rolled over onto his back, assaulted by a blast of freezing air, gushing through the broken door. Flicking his wand, the door mended itself, and in the same breath the stain of his shame disappeared. Staring at the wooden clock on the mantelpiece, it was three am, time to get rid of the stench of his father.

Cleaning the house with his bare hands, and slight aid from his wand, Severus made it shine. It wasn't a bad looking house once it was cleaned, but it needed a lot of work. The outside was disgusting, the garden overgrown, and the paintwork almost nonexistent. This he rectified immediately, flicking his wand and changing the exterior of the house to include long, white wooden vertical panels, the garden adorned with rare herbs used for brewing, some trees, and a patch of faded red roses, the same colour as the God awful t-shirt that had set this whole chain of events in motion on the first night of her detentions.

He had to get her out of his head! It should be simple! He'd destroyed Voldemort, been manipulated by two equally cruel masters, getting a chit of a girl out of his head should be a walk in the park. That was just the problem though. Severus did not walk in parks, any park, ever.

Harry strode through the common room, kissing Ginny on the cheek as he went to wake Hermione. She'd been sleeping later and later, he wondered whether she was depressed, and just trying to hide it. Knocking, there was no answer. _Wow, she's out like a light, never thought I'd see the day_ he thought.

Instead of a disgruntled looking Hermione lying in her bed, he found it dishevelled, her clothes streaked across the floor, and an upturned bottle of red ink, slowly dripping and staining the crimson carpet. There, smudged with what looked like tear streaks, lay a letter. He read it slowly and carefully, hesitating as he looked around the room, looked for any clue to where she might be. Would she have gone to Australia? How could she abandon him like this? No, no this wasn't about him. For once it was not about Harry Potter. This was about Hermione, and if she needed space, then he trusted her enough to give it to her.

A week had passed, and Hermione had been cleaning, and making meals for the Grangers. More and more she was realising that they were quite different from the parents she remembered. Perhaps, well, perhaps they could become friends.

Snape had completely transformed Spinner's End. It was, presentable, even beautiful, in a rustic, antique fashion. He had rummaged through every muggle antique shop in rural England, used foolish wand waving, and he had almost eliminated the gnawing pain in his heart.

After the pain of making the biggest mistake of his life had dissipated, he had realised that he had left her when she needed him, well, someone, the most. He would not go to her. She had made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. No, he would sit in his lab, and miss her, mourn her absence, wonder how she was, where she was, what she was doing, but he would never hurt her again.

The Granger house was beautiful. Hermione had helped her mother search for a Christmas tree, make puddings, write cards, and now all they needed was to hang the decorations onto the tree.

"Be a dear and get me the box of decorations out of the attic, Hermione," said her mother. "My back has been awfully sore."

"Sure. But you should really go see a doctor. You've been vomiting at all hours of the morning, and you look flushed. And if you ask me to make you a peanut butter and lettuce sandwich again, I think I'm going to be sick myself," Hermione giggled, unaware of the soft, and secretive gazes her parents were exchanging.

Hermione rummaged through the boxes in the attic, and noticed an extremely dusty box tucked away in the corner. She moved it into the centre of the room. Peering inside, she caught sight of a pair of booties. Hermione loved baby clothes, and she continued to delve through the box, until she came across a pink jump suit, embroidered with the name Hermione. She stifled a gasp, and quickly sorted through the rest of the box. Coming to the bottom, there, in the corner of the box, laid a photo frame. It was ornate, and the glass was cracked, and there through the dusty glass, was a picture of her parents holding a baby girl, and a smaller picture of her first day at Hogwarts. She remembered that day well, but what were they doing here, they were supposed to be gone. But then something clicked that pushed all other thoughts out of Hermione's mind. _She's pregnant, she's, she's having a baby. She, I, I can't do this to her now, it's too dangerous. I, it, oh no. _

Running down the stairs, Hermione flung open the front door, shouting something about being unable to find the decorations, and going into town to buy some. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her, through the night, through her tears, not stopping to eat or sleep, until she collapsed outside a homely looking house, in the street Harry's parents had once lived.

Unbeknownst to her conscious brain, her feet had carried her to the one place she knew she could find shelter, and the one place Harry would never find her. But these plans were lost as she fell unconscious onto the pavement, soft snow starting to fall on her exhausted, crumpled form. She was vaguely aware of a firm, and strangely familiar grip, someone gathering her up into an exceedingly familiar body, the scent of the person's clothes, the last thing she remembered before her senses went comfortingly blank.


End file.
